


Rage

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU-Canon divergence, Gen, Trust Issues, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kate’s death, Peter doesn’t know quite how to handle Neal. His CI is definitely not the same person, and Peter struggles to find some way to reach him. Things only get worse as Peter suddenly becomes the enemy in Neal’s eyes.</p><p>Set at the beginning of Season Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Treon for the beta.

_The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,_

_Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,_

_Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,_

_Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it._

Excerpt from the [Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rub%C3%A1iy%C3%A1t_of_Omar_Khayy%C3%A1m)

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

     Several weeks had elapsed since the tragic explosion on a tarmac beside the Hudson River. Peter finally was given the opportunity to face down the glowering, sanctimonious pundits who represented the upper echelons of the Bureau. In his defense, he doggedly stuck to the ugly, unvarnished truth, and the outcome was precarious for a while. However, in the end, as a reward for that fortitude, Peter had been given back his credentials and badge. He also had attained the official “go ahead” to reinstate Neal’s arrangement as his confidential informant.

     As Peter made his way north to Ossining, he wondered how he would find his CI. He had been forbidden to have any contact with Neal at Sing Sing until the FBI panel had met and made their decision as to Peter’s re-instatement. Peter’s last image of his partner was a heartbreakingly devastated young man, just a shell of the Neal Caffrey that Peter had come to know. But then, what could you expect when the flames of Kate’s funeral pyre were reaching a crescendo, and all that her lover could do was stare in crazed disbelief while inhaling a gray mist that probably contained her ashes. Peter had tried to reach out to Mozzie, whom he heard was legally representing Neal. However, the little bald man was quite elusive. Even El was denied entry behind his wall of silence.

     Finally reaching his destination, Peter walked down the halls that he knew quite well by now. He waited patiently for an orange-clad Neal to make an appearance, and when he did come into view, Peter perceived that something fundamental had changed. Of course, Neal tried to fall back into his comfort zone of cracking wise about ties and coffee, but Peter wasn’t buying it for a second. Neal never had a hard exterior, but now it was almost as if his persona was clad in rigid steel. The FBI agent also felt waves of something foreign emanating from Neal, and he wondered if it was resentment, anger, or a latent fury that the young man was valiantly trying to keep under control.

     To solidify Peter’s sense of foreboding, Neal waffled about having their deal reinstated, and refused to give Peter a straight answer. Peter’s gut was now on high alert. Perhaps, Neal planned to engineer another escape from the maximum-security federal prison. He had certainly proven that he was up to the task. Walking out the front door one year ago had taken brass balls, and Neal had definitely confirmed that he possessed such a pair.

     Peter suspected that if the con man managed to pull it off and was out and about on his own without an anklet, he would tenaciously ferret out the truth of the puzzle. Then, in his own time, he would wreak his own style of vengeance. Even though Neal had never resorted to violence before, now all bets were off as to his behavior. For just a moment, Peter’s determination wavered. Would he ever be able to keep Neal in check after all that had happened? If Neal conceded to being under his supervision once again, Peter wondered if he was suddenly going to find himself struggling to hold onto a vicious and merciless tiger by its tail?

~~~~~~~~~~

     Even though the visit to Sing Sing had been fruitless, one thing had been established. Neal had put Peter on notice as he had taken his leave from the visitor’s room that day.

     “Don’t come back, Peter. Mozzie will contact you if I make that decision. If you don’t want to wait, that’s okay. I get it. You need to move on with your career.”

     And just like that, Peter Burke found himself removed from Neal’s list of approved visitors.

     The weeks dragged on with no word via Mozzie, so Peter took the initiative to stop by June’s house one afternoon. The gracious lady was now seated across from him in her sedate parlor with an expectant look on her face.

     “June,” Peter plunged in, “have you seen Neal lately?”

     June smiled ruefully. “No, Peter, I have not. Neal is a proud man just as my Byron was, and he would not want me to see him in that place. Of course, I do make sure to send him care packages every week so that he has something of home with him.”

     Peter then went on to explain how Neal was refusing to see him and not accepting the confidential informant position that would get him out of Sing Sing once again.

     “Peter,” June murmured softly, “I believe this is something that you desire, but perhaps Neal doesn’t feel the same way.”

     Peter was frustrated. “But if he doesn’t agree to the deal, the only alternative is for him to rot in jail until the end of his additional four year sentence. That is such a waste. I just don’t get him, June. I don’t know where his head is anymore.”

     June smiled softly. “Peter, do you consider yourself to be Neal’s friend?”

     “Sure I do, June. And he should know that.”

     “Well, Peter, sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence, a time to let people go, and a time to allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. It goes without saying that there is also a time to pick up the pieces when it is all over.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     June’s words were like a wise prophecy when they came back to haunt Peter in a month’s time. He had received a call from the warden at Sing Sing telling him that Neal had been in a fight and was being treated in the infirmary. Now it did not matter if Peter was on any approved visitors’ list. He badged his way into the prison like an angry bull and demanded to see Neal Caffrey. Presently, a quite obese African-American guard shuffled over and said that he would escort Peter.

     “Bobbie” led the way down hall after hall until Peter saw a sign with an arrow that indicated that they were headed to the solitary cells deep within the bowels of the institution.

     “I thought Caffrey was in the infirmary. Why is he in solitary?” Peter demanded to know.

     “Neal’s injuries weren’t that bad,” Bobbie explained. “Gunther messed him up a bit, but nothing got broken. Neal is lucky. Gunther is one evil son of a bitch, pardon my language, but I have seen him kick and stomp a man to death just because he was bored. He’s an Aryan supremacist serving four consecutive life sentences for four murders that they could prove, so another notch on his belt wouldn’t bother him in the least.”

     “Did he go after Neal because he was a CI?” Peter wanted to know.

     “Actually, Agent Burke, you have the wrong idea. It was Neal who went after Gunther—just walked right up to him and threw the first punch. Now, Gunther works out like a fiend and is built like Iron Man, so he could have squashed Neal like a bug. Surprisingly, he chose to ease up on his hits until the guards broke it up.”

     “Okay, I’m confused here,” Peter admitted. “Did this Gunther do something to make Neal angry? And why would a homicidal inmate with nothing to lose let somebody off the hook who got in his face? What’s the history between these two?”

     “Neal and Gunther were in the same cell block before but pretty much co-existed without any direct interaction or friction. But Sing Sing is not some isolated island, Agent Burke. News gets around from various sources, so maybe, as strange as it sounds, Gunther cut Neal some slack because of what happened to his girlfriend.”

     Peter was still at sea about Neal’s motive. “But why would Neal even start a fight in the first place? It makes no sense, especially when the person that he attacked could kill him.”

     Bobby had stopped before turning the final corner in the serpentine halls. He opened his mouth to say something, but then clamped his jaw shut before any words were spoken.

     “What do you know, Bobby?” Peter demanded. “Why did Neal do that? If you know, you need to tell me!”

     When Peter wouldn’t let it go, the overweight guard finally gave in, but fashioned his answer with disclaimers.

     “Look, Agent Burke, I’m not a real smart man, ya know. Hell, I barely got through high school. In my neighborhood, if you showed up they gave you a diploma, so what do I know about why people do what they do?”

     Peter was not going to be put off. “Bobbie, you have known Neal, up close and personal, for four years—a lot longer than I have known him. So, tell me what you’re thinking because somehow your suspicions might be right on the money.”

     Reluctantly, the guard tried to explain. “Well, you know when you have a toothache, it hurts like a bitch. But then, if you stub your toe and break it, it’s all about the new pain, and you kind of don’t notice the toothache for awhile.”

     This simple man’s homespun logic unexpectedly made sense to Peter. Psychiatrists might have a term for redirecting or substituting one painful stimuli for another, but it suddenly became a bit clearer to Peter. Neal was still hurting from Kate’s loss and was doing whatever he could to escape it, if only for a little while.

     Peter smiled at Bobby. “I think that you are, indeed, a very perceptive and intelligent man, my friend. Thanks for the heads up.”

     The two continued the trek in silence until Bobby opened the solid cell door of #3 and Peter could step into the gloom. Neal was lying on his bunk, but stirred and sat up when Peter said his name. He had some cuts and abrasions, and technicolor bruising blossomed across his cheekbones. However, overall, he looked a lot better than Peter would have expected.

     “Neal,” Peter began authoritatively, “it’s time for you to come home. I think that you’re developing a death wish in here, so cut the crap, sign the papers, and let me get you out before I wind up having to come and claim your body.”

     Neal just favored Peter with a flat stare. “Peter, you have no control over me in here. You can’t tell me what to do because you are now in ‘my world,’ and your authority doesn’t supersede the warden’s.”

     Peter was more than ready to play hardball. “That may be true, Neal, but I do have the warden’s ear. I could make a recommendation that you be kept in solitary for the remainder of your sentence to keep you safe from those who may take exception to the fact that you were a confidential informant on the outside. If you continue to be stubborn, believe me, I will make that happen, Buddy. So, that may put a little crimp in any plans that you have for another jailbreak.”

     Peter saw something momentarily flash in Neal’s eyes, and was hard put to identify the expression. Had he just witnessed a spark of rage, or was it actual hatred that Neal immediately hid behind a bland façade? For just a second, Peter’s dedicated crusade stutter stepped. Should he be afraid of what he could possibly be unleashing? If he let the genie out of the bottle, would he ever be able to contain it again?

~~~~~~~~~~

     After Neal had done his stint in solitary for the altercation, he finally agreed to don the suit and tie that Mozzie had brought to the prison, and walked out the door to be shackled with another tracking anklet. Peter could not help but notice that Neal’s blue eyes continued to have that unfathomable opaqueness. Once more ensconced in the FBI building, the paroled felon reclaimed his desk in the bullpen and made nice with his co-workers. However, there was none of the good-natured baiting and kidding that was his former stock in trade. Neal now had a brittle air about him to accompany his sometimes-hollow gaze, and Peter continued to fret about this new, disjointed version of his CI.

     Finally, in desperation, Peter enticed El to send up the bat signal, and an eventual rendezvous with Mozzie took place in the park.

     “I’m worried about him, Mozzie. He’s ….. well, let’s just say that he is definitely not himself, and I need to know what’s going on with him,” Peter finally admitted.

     Mozzie just snorted. “I am Neal’s friend, Suit, not his keeper. I do not keep minute-by-minute tabs on him. That ignominious distinction belongs to you and you alone.”

     “I am his friend, too, Mr. Haversham, and don’t you ever lose sight of that,” Peter retorted angrily.

     Then, Peter managed to rein in his frustration and toned down his words. “Look, I’m concerned about Neal’s state of mind. I’m thinking maybe it could be a form of post traumatic stress that he is exhibiting.”

     “Sure,” Mozzie answered all too quickly before his eyes darted away. “Let’s just go with that.”

     To Peter, Mozzie’s squirrely response was a sure tell that something was afoot between Neal and his cohort in crime. Neal had an angle that he was working, and Mozzie was up to his neck in it as well. Most assuredly, the two were trying to unravel the mystery of the music box—that fatal talisman that had changed everyone’s fate in the blink of an eye. Peter and Diana were also resolutely trying to solve that same puzzle, but just how far behind was Neal in his search for someone to blame? And exactly what would an impulsive Neal do if he found the guilty person first? For the time being, Peter thought that it was prudent to keep Neal in the dark because he was a loose canon. Maybe that was not the wisest decision, but, for now, that was Peter’s well-intentioned plan.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Things continued in an uncertain and uncomfortable vein until they came to a head one afternoon in the garment district of Manhattan. Peter and his team had to resort to a frantic foot race after a dirty accountant who was determined to make a last stand in a blind alley once he was cornered. Jones, Diana, and Peter all had their guns trained on the twitchy perp, who was brandishing his own firearm. It was the epitome of a Mexican standoff. Tense moments ensued with the “good” guys yelling and threatening, and the “bad” guy promising to inflict his own havoc if they came any closer. Ultimately, it was the one person who was unarmed who put an end to the stalemate.

     Neal had suddenly pushed by Peter and had strode forward with a determined focus. The nervous accountant had backed up as far as he could, his handgun still rock steady in his outstretched hand. He warned Neal off, threatening to shoot. He had nothing to lose now, he claimed, and he was not going to make it easy. If he was going down, damn it, then he was taking somebody down with him!

     Neal was undeterred and his pace never faltered. He totally ignored the dangerous man’s threats and Peter’s urgent command to stop. Neal simply walked up to his target, smacked the gun from the bewildered man’s grasp, and then, uncharacteristically, backhanded him with a savage blow. That was the first time that Peter had ever seen Neal exhibit any form of aggressive, violent behavior.

     Of course, after the scene was secured and the accountant was in handcuffs, Peter confronted his insubordinate CI.

     “What was that all about, Neal?” Peter demanded to know. “What were you thinking, you idiot?”

     Neal just gave Peter that same impervious stare that now seemed to be the norm for him and answered in a monotone. “I may be a lot of things, Peter, but an idiot isn’t one of them.”

     “Well, you could have gotten yourself killed, so explain that to me,” Peter fired back.

     Now Peter saw some kind of heated emotion flare in Neal’s intense gaze.

     “I was making sure to preserve your precious closure statistics, Peter. Isn’t that what is of paramount importance? If I got blown away in the process, well, a CI is expendable—just collateral damage, the same as any other person that the FBI sinks their hooks into!”

     The venom in Neal’s words caused Peter to step back. So, there it was—the real crux of the whole problem. Neal blamed the FBI for Kate’s death, and, since Peter represented the FBI, he was guilty as well. Any bond of trust that they had managed to create in the past no longer existed. Peter was now the enemy, and he didn’t know how to fix this. Diana had overheard the heated exchange and watched Neal as he strode angrily away from the scene.

     “Do you want me to go after him, Boss?” she asked tentatively.

     Peter knew that he needed time to sort through this and decide how to proceed. “No, just let him be,” was his answer.

~~~~~~~~~~

     That night, Peter pulled up Neal’s tracking data and sat transfixed as he watched the little blinking dot continually pace back and forth across the screen. That did not seem unusual, given Neal’s agitated energy, but it did seem somehow out of kilter when Peter noticed the distance that Neal was pacing. By his calculations, it was approximately 40-45 feet in each direction. The location was also perplexing.  Although well within Neal’s radius, the address was unfamiliar to Peter, and after doing some digging, he found that it was a private residence. Now Peter was apprehensive—what was Neal up to?

     At this time of night, it only took him twenty minutes to drive to what was an impressive Greek Revival style mansion. The home looked dark, but, nonetheless, Peter rang the doorbell and eventually pounded on the massive oak doors. No one appeared, and a worried Peter checked Neal’s anklet data once again. Yep—this was definitely the place. Well, Peter had come this far. Initially, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity. Now he thought that he needed to save Neal from committing a grievous error in judgment. Obviously, the con man was definitely somewhere he shouldn’t be at this time of night, and that portended something nefarious.

     Peter took out a set of lock picks and, after some jiggling and ardent swearing, the lock gave way to his persistence. He could only hope that he hadn’t set off a security alarm. He rationalized that if Neal were here, he would have already disabled it. The stealthy FBI agent traversed the entire first floor finding no one. He was about to head up the curving staircase when he thought that he heard a noise from the floor below the main one.

     Eventually, he found an archway that framed another downward stairway. Peter slunk down the steps, flattened against the wall with his gun in his hand, as he followed what he thought was the sound of agitated water. The steps eventually opened into a semi-darkened state-of-the-art gymnasium with mats on the floor and every kind of fitness apparatus known to man scattered about the area. Across from the room’s open floor plan was a huge indoor pool illuminated from above by spotlights that cast an eerie glow onto the surface of the churning water. Peter was certainly not prepared to see his CI immersed in those inky depths.

     He watched in fascination as Neal slid through the water at a steady pace, summersaulting gracefully at the ends of the pool to propel his body in the opposite direction. Peter sat down on a bench, marveling at Neal’s agility and practiced style. Of course, Neal Caffrey never did anything without a sense of panache. He also wondered how long Neal had been at it tonight before Peter had noticed the movements on his phone.

     Finally, after another ten minutes, it seemed as if the marathon of endurance had come to an end, and Neal effortlessly pushed up on the side of the pool to exit. He didn’t even bat an eye when he saw Peter seated before him. He simply grabbed a towel from a stack in the gym and began to rub the water from his hair and upper torso. This arrogant dismissal served to irritate Peter more than ever. He was determined not to be ignored, so he was the first to break the silence.

     “What are you doing here, Neal, in an empty mansion which, by the way, doesn’t happen to be where you normally hang your hat?” Peter barked.

     Neal knew that Peter was angry, so he pushed the envelope by pasting on his most condescending smile.

     “Well, let’s see now—I’m dripping wet and there is a pool in the room. C’mon, Agent Burke, utilize your awesome deductive skills to figure it out.”

     “Neal, there is nobody home and the doors were locked,” Peter claimed menacingly.

     Neal had been reaching for his shirt that was laying across a nearby chaise. He extricated a key from its pocket and held it up for Peter to see.

     “This is Gilbert and Jeanette Symington’s house, Peter, and they are friends of June’s. Gilbert suffers from severe arthritis, so the frail old couple spend the winter each year in the sunshine of Palm Beach, Florida. They gave me a key before they left, and told me the pool was at my disposal anytime that I wanted. I come here whenever I can, and after my workout in the pool, I usually change into dry clothes right here before I leave. So, since you are always very interested in seeing everything for yourself, I just want to warn you that you might have to endure seeing more than you expected.”

     Peter had “seen and heard” all that he could tolerate at that moment. Before Neal could disrobe, he marched over to the sarcastic con man and got into his personal space.

     “Okay, Neal, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you are angry, and have been angry for a long time. Let’s stop pussyfooting around the issue. You hold me responsible, in some way, for Kate’s death. I know that’s what has been eating at you and eroding our relationship, so be man enough to own it.”

     Neal tried to ignore Peter and to brush past him, but Peter grabbed him by the arm.

     “C’mon, Neal, let’s hear it! Stop being a passive-aggressive coward, and admit that you’re mad as hell.”

     When Neal just glared at him, Peter continued to taunt him with a shove to his chest that sent the young man reeling backwards.

     “Okay, Pal, actions speak louder than words, so do what you have been itching to do. You know that you want to hit me the same way that you hit that guy holding a gun on you this afternoon, the same way that you clocked that homicidal skinhead in Sing Sing. So, c’mon, Slugger, let's see what you’re made of. Hit me, damn it!”

     Neal’s eyes had narrowed and his jaw had tightened, but his arms remained steadfastly at his sides. That made Peter even more determined than ever to elicit a cathartic response from him. He shoved Neal hard a second time, and then unexpectedly delivered a fisted blow to his CI’s jaw. He had pulled his punch, but the power was enough to snap Neal’s head back. That got a look of surprise from the victim, but still nothing in retaliation.

     “So, what’s with this sudden passivity, Neal? Where’s all that rage that you have bottled up inside? C’mon, let’s see it!”

     Peter’s second volley was a soft punch to Neal’s midsection, then a follow-through uppercut to the chin. The con man fell to one knee, but when he looked up, there was a definite fire in his eyes. Striking as quickly as a rattlesnake, he suddenly lunged for Peter, got his hands around the agent’s neck, and sent them both sprawling down to the mats. He was now perched above Peter, and their eyes were just inches apart. Neal was breathing hard, squeezing tightly as he tried to prevent Peter from breathing at all. Peter’s hands were gripping Neal’s wrists trying to pry them away from his throat and wondering if he had succeeded in engineering his own death this night. Instead of seeing his life flash before him, Peter found himself inanely reasoning that at his trial, Neal could certainly plead that this was not a premeditated act—it was simply a spur-of-the-moment crime of passion instigated by his foolhardy but well-intentioned handler.

     Then suddenly, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Neal shook his head to clear it, and released his death-grip on Peter’s throat. He hastily scuttled backwards and bent his head towards his jack-knifed knees. Peter struggled to get air into his distressed lungs and, with an effort, raised himself to a seated position across from the con man.

     “Talk to me, Neal,” he managed to rasp out.

     At first, he didn’t think that he was going to get a response, but then Neal finally spoke in a bitter, disembodied voice.

      “I _know_ the FBI was behind Kate’s death, Peter. Fowler brokered the Mentor deal and he was FBI. He claimed that he was representing someone ‘above his paygrade’—most likely someone at the Bureau who wanted that damn amber box; someone who was willing to kill for it. And now, Peter, I know that _you_ have that very box, so what am I supposed to think? Just stop with the duplicity and tell me who you are really working for in the Bureau’s hierarchy.

     And please don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it. Looking back now, I realize that you were the one who seemed to have had an agenda from the very beginning. You tried to stop me from being with Kate at every turn. I told you early on that she was in danger, but you shut me down. _‘Just accept the fact that you’ve been dumped, Neal.’_

     Obviously, you knew where Kate was the whole time because you managed to communicate with her and even met with her when you chose. All those months you kept her from me because you were just controlling us, Peter, pulling our strings like a puppeteer. After you got what you wanted, did you show up at the hangar just to make sure that all the loose ends were tied up? Didn’t you mean for me to be on that plane, too?”

     “Neal,” Peter began in an agonized tone, “it wasn’t like that at all. I did not want either you or Kate dead. Believe me when I say that everything that I did this last year was to protect you.”

     Neal snorted. “That old refrain is tired and redundant, and it just isn’t going to fly anymore.”

     “Neal, I swear to you, on Elizabeth’s life, that I was not behind any evil plot to harm you or Kate. I have no idea what the valuable significance of that amber box is, but I intend to find out. That’s why I have tucked it away for safekeeping. I know that you and Mozzie have been on a fact-finding mission of your own. So, let’s do this together. If we uncover that someone in the Bureau is responsible, trust me when I say that I will not stop until I take them down, even if I have to petition the Director of the Bureau, himself. I am not afraid of confrontation, so I’ll do whatever it takes to bring the guilty person to justice. But, we do it my way, Neal. Kate tried to negotiate her own deal and look how that turned out.”

     The con man still refused to meet Peter’s eyes.

     “Neal, look at me,” Peter pleaded. “I am not lying to you. Please find it in your heart to trust me—to believe that I am telling you the truth. I know that’s a hard concept for you to embrace because trust doesn’t come easy for you. But, if you want the truth, you’ll just have to take a leap of faith. You were right when you said that someone was manipulating both you and Kate, and now we have to find out the who and the why. Come on, Buddy, work with me. If we’re at cross purposes, we’ll only slow each other down, and we’ll never be able to get either closure or justice for you and Kate.”

     Neal finally looked up but there was still doubt in his expression, so Peter pushed on. “Look, Neal, I was never a fool. I know that the only reason that you wanted the anklet deal in the first place was so that you could have some wiggle room to search for Kate while working with me. So, work with me now to find her killer.”

     It almost broke Peter’s heart when Neal whispered forlornly, “Kate loved me, Peter. I know that she did. She was only trying to do whatever she could to extricate us from this mare’s nest of intrigue. She wasn’t some conniving Mata Hari. What she wanted—what we both ultimately wanted—was a normal life with a family. Regardless of what you may think, in the end we weren’t aiming for the brass ring; we just wanted that whole corny existence involving a little suburban bungalow with a dog and kids and PTA meetings.”

     Peter had his doubts as to what Kate had really wanted, but he would never say any of that out loud to Neal. Besides, it was all moot now and would only hurt her heartsick lover if he brought it up. Peter desperately needed Neal to trust him, to truly believe in Peter’s altruistic, sincere motivation to sort it all out. If that did not happen, then they could not go forward.

     Thankfully, very slowly and somewhat reluctantly, a bond was re-forged that night on the hard floor of a rich old man’s gym. Peter knew that it was tenuous at best, but he hoped that it would strengthen in time. It would need to be strong to keep Neal in check if they ever found their quarry. As time passed, Peter suspected that the once again amiable guise that Neal wore as easily as his fancy suits was only a smokescreen to mask the rage that still simmered just below the surface. Was he trying to fool Peter or himself?

     Without a doubt, he and Mozzie were still doing their own sub rosa thing, and the ramifications of that endeavor presented a chilling scenario when the ugly beast of dark passion reared its snarling head once more in a Russian Heritage Museum. It took every ounce of Peter’s strength to talk Neal down from the precipice of disaster that day. Fortunately, he managed to salvage his friend before the unthinkable happened, but Peter was never one to delude himself.

     One day, Neal would reach his limit of being manipulated and duped by those who held his leash. When that moment arrived, he wouldn’t be pacified or talked out of his objective. It was only a matter of time before the link between CI and handler would not be sufficient to hold him. When Neal had his fill of deception and broken promises, the disgruntled young man would work his magic and, no doubt, perform the ultimate con. Probably, with a self-satisfied smirk, he would salute the Bureau with an upturned finger, and leave New York and Peter far behind.

     Peter knew when that occurred, he would miss Neal immeasurably, but he wouldn’t interfere and he wouldn’t pursue. The raw truth was that there were those souls who had endured an agonizing penance and should no longer be under a yoke. They were the ones who deserved to be free so that they could soar once again.

     If everything did, indeed, unfold as the agent suspected that it would one day, Peter knew he would smile and wish his friend well in another life—a tranquil, fulfilling, and contented life devoid of devouring rage. As a very wise lady had once said, “There is a time for silence, a time to let people go, and a time to allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny.”

**Author's Note:**

> The quote used in this story is adapted from a quote by Octavia Butler, American author, 1947-2006.


End file.
